


Monsters

by octopodian, staticbees



Category: Tribe Twelve
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Noah starts seeing the Administrator at a young age, Tags will be added according to chapters, heavily relies on journal entries, so please make sure you've read those before reading this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:12:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopodian/pseuds/octopodian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: "Noah first sees the man when he’s eight. He’s coming home from school, backpack weighing heavy on his shoulders; the man is standing by the swings in the playground outside Victor Park, silent and still. Noah can’t see his face, but his skin is deathly pale. He’s wearing a black suit, a stark contrast to the bright, colorful plastic of the swingset. Noah ignores him and keeps walking, eyes fixed in front of him, trying to not think about the uneasiness roiling in his gut, or the persistent feeling that something iswrongthat worms its way into his brain."





	1. Chapter 1

Noah first sees the man when he’s eight. He’s coming home from school, backpack weighing heavy on his shoulders; the man is standing by the swings in the playground outside Victor Park, silent and still. Noah can’t see his face, but his skin is deathly pale. He’s wearing a black suit, a stark contrast to the bright, colorful plastic of the swingset. Noah ignores him and keeps walking, eyes fixed in front of him, trying to not think about the uneasiness roiling in his gut or the persistent feeling that something is  _ wrong  _ that worms its way into his brain. 

 

He’s dismissed the man as nothing to worry about within a few days, writing it off as a prank or an especially dedicated Halloween enthusiast. It’s only a few weeks away, so costumes aren’t  _ that  _ unusual to see, even if most people wait until it gets closer to the actual holiday.

 

The next time he sees him, he’s all but forgotten about the strange man by Victor Park. It’s November now, only a couple days before his birthday. He’s wearing a light jacket, hands stuck in his pockets. 

 

He feels a tickle on the back of his neck, like someone is watching him, and he spins around, eyes darting. The man is there, on the street corner, head turned in his direction. He’s wearing the same pitch-black suit, unnaturally tall and stick straight, his arms rigid by his sides. His face is a blank sheet, stripped of any identifying features, like someone has taken a brush and painted a layer of white over his skin, carefully smoothing over the jutting out bones and pieces of cartilage. Noah stumbles backwards, mouth dry, heart pounding in his chest. The man doesn’t have eyes, but Noah knows that he’s looking right at him. 

 

He runs into a nearby gas station, hiding behind a table, shaking. One of the employees gives him a look, and he fumbles through a lie about a school bully, hoping they don’t call his parents. They shrug and head back behind the counter, leaving him alone. 

 

The man keeps popping up after that. Noah sees him on sidewalks, in alleyways, staring up at him from the schoolyard as he sits in class, hunched over his desk, pencil gripped just a little too tightly in his hand. His friends don’t seem to notice him, continuing on their their day as usual, and he doesn’t say anything to them. They wouldn’t understand. Besides, fitting in at school is hard enough, without everyone finding out he sees things that aren’t there. 

 

It gets worse once he turns nine. He starts to get headaches and coughing fits whenever the man is near, back of his skull buzzing with static, hands shaking like butterfly wings. He hides it, makes up excuses for why he’s coughing up blood in the bathroom sink, white-knuckled fingers gripping the marble rim, why he flinches at the mannequins in the display window of a men’s fashion store, with their plastic white faces and carefully cuffed business suits.

 

When he turns ten, they diagnose him with general anxiety disorder. The medicine helps with the panic attacks, the sharp, jagged fear that roots him to the ground and keeps him there, but he still sees  _ him _ , still has white noise in his brain and a cough that won’t go away. 

 

Once, he dreams of a man who sounds like him, made of shadows and smoke, eyes two burning bright pinholes in the darkness. They’re in a tent, the man sitting cross legged, a book held in his hands. He tells Noah that Milo can help him, that he’ll try to keep them away as long as he can. Noah asks who  _ they  _ are. The shadow man just smiles. 

 

There are footsteps pacing back and forth by the tent door, slow and deliberate, the crackle of brittle autumn leaves punctuating each step. The man looks at him and puts a finger to his lips, motioning Noah to be quiet. Wind is rustling through the branches outside, trees casting long, jagged shadows on the thin walls, but Noah can’t hear any animals. The footsteps stop, leaving a still, heavy silence, apprehension thick in the air. The shadow version of himself holds up the book, worn black leather with a symbol like an eye scratched into the front, as if he’s warding away whatever’s outside. Before the footsteps can draw any closer, Noah jolts awake. 

 

He tries to brush it off as best as he can. His life already sucks with one supernatural being stalking him. He doesn’t need another. 

 

The first time he sees Milo since the man showed up, it’s for his birthday. His mom still isn’t on good terms with Milo’s, but he remembers all the fun they used to have together, and after a lot of begging, both parents agreed that it would be good for the both of them if Milo was allowed to stay the week at Noah’s house.

 

They spend the first few days visiting parks and playing video games, hanging out like they used to when Noah was little. Maybe it’s because Milo is his older cousin, because sometimes he thinks of him like the brother he never had, but Noah feels most comfortable around him, like he can trust him.

 

He’s been alone with what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling, for so long, it feels almost surreal to even consider, but eventually, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling in the middle of the night, he makes the decision to tell him about the man.

 

He confronts Milo the next morning. They’re sitting in the guest room on Milo’s bed: Noah’s parents are out shopping, and they trusted Milo enough to let them stay by themselves for half an hour. Noah fiddles with the sheets, while Milo focuses on beating the next boss of whatever game he’s playing. 

 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he bursts out, breaking the silence, and Milo glances at him, putting down the controller.  

 

“What is it?” 

 

Noah hesitates for a moment, shoves down the fear that threatens to overwhelm him, and starts to explain. He tells Milo about the man, about the flutters and the coughing and the blood, how no one believes him, how he feels like he’s going crazy. 

 

Milo doesn’t say a word once he finishes, just looks at him hard, and for a moment Noah thinks  _ maybe he sees him too, maybe I’m not crazy after all,  _ and then he says, almost nonchalantly, “Aren’t you a little too old to believe in monsters?”

 

Noah flinches, heart sinking, any hope he may have had of finding a confidant in Milo gone. “Yeah. You’re right, sorry.” 

 

Once, he dreamt of a shadow version of himself, two pinpricks of light where his eyes should be. He told Noah that Milo could help him. He lied. 

 

Milo smiles blankly. For a minute, his eyes look hollow. “Don’t worry about it.” 

 

They go back to playing video games, but Noah is only really half present. Milo was the last person he could trust. Now, he’d have to deal with it on his own.   
  


Noah and Milo chat on the phone at least once a month, to keep in contact, but Noah is subdued, every conversation with his cousin reminding him of his eleventh birthday, and Milo rarely speaks about his home life, only saying he’s doing well.

 

Milo visits again for Noah’s twelfth birthday. It’s fairly uneventful, and they’re both quieter this year. No one notices. 

 

After that, Noah doesn’t see Milo for a long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah co-authoring
> 
> more chapters in the works because octopodian is reliable even though i'm not


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you lie to me?” he repeats, frustration spilling into his voice. “About how you see him too. That day in September, when you came over for my birthday. I told you– I told you _everything_ ,” he says, scathing. “And you just said I was _‘too old to believe in monsters’_.” __

He sees his cousin face to face again on his fifteenth birthday. Milo, his mom, and her new boyfriend drive down to Florida: the adults stay in a hotel, but Milo sleeps in the guest bedroom.

 

They play video games and watch movies most of the time. On Noah's actual birthday, he invites over a few people from school, and they fuck around in the park for the rest of the day. It’s nice to feel like a normal teenage boy for once.

 

They make a campfire by the river as the sun sets, and Tyler suggests they tell ghost stories. Noah gives a half-hearted effort, something about a demon, and doesn’t pay much attention to what the others are saying. He’s never been a big fan of horror. He has enough to deal with in real life. 

 

When it gets to Milo’s turn, though, he perks up. His cousin is spinning story of some man who stalks children while they sleep, devouring their souls if they don’t wake up in time to catch him. He starts to describe the man’s appearance, putting real emotion into his voice, as if he’s experienced it firsthand, and Noah freezes. What his cousin is describing is exactly what he told him he saw when he was eleven, down to the very last detail. Nearly everything he’s saying matches up with Noah’s own experiences. Anger bubbles up. First he makes fun of him, and then he uses his trauma for some stupid story?

 

Suddenly, Milo stops mid-sentence, staring across the canal, his eyes wide. Noah follows his gaze, a vague sense of impending doom creeping over him. It’s too dark to make out anything in particular, but he can  _ feel _ the man’s gaze, exactly like it felt when he was eight, when he turned around to see him standing on the street corner. He turns to see Milo frozen in place, looking like he’s just seen a ghost.

 

_ Milo can see him too.  _ There’s no other explanation. But if his cousin knows about the man, why did he lie to him, all those years ago? Why did he make Noah think he was alone? 

 

A hand grabs Milo from behind and Noah hears Tyler scream, his friend’s voice making him jerk backwards. Milo scrambles to his feet and darts around the seawall, looking panicked. Tyler starts to chase him, laughing. Milo stumbles and nearly fall into the water, before sprinting back inside. 

 

Tyler saunters back to the campfire, a smug grin on his face, but Noah ignores him and gets up to head inside after Milo. He hears muffled sobbing coming from the bathroom, and knocks on the door.  

 

“Milo?” he calls tentatively. “Can I come in?”

 

“Yeah,” Milo says. Noah hears a click as he unlocks the door.

 

Milo is sitting on the floor, legs drawn up to his chest, scrubbing at his eyes. He looks up, sniffling, as Noah walks in and sits down cross-legged next to him.

 

“I’m sorry. I know Tyler can be a dick. I’m not gonna invite him next year.” 

 

Milo shrugs, but doesn’t object. They sit in silence for a bit, before the thoughts racing through Noah’s head bubble over.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” Noah asks shortly. 

 

Milo blinks, looking confused. “What?” 

 

“Why did you lie to me?” he repeats, frustration spilling into his voice. “About how you see him too. That day in September, when you came over for my birthday. I told you– I told you _everything_ ,” he says, scathing. “And you just said I was _‘too old to believe in monsters’_.”

 

Milo bites his lip. “I don’t remember any of that.”

 

Noah stops short. “What?”

 

“Everything after 1997 is… hazy. It’s like I was running on autopilot. I barely remember most of it. I don’t know if it was a symptom of the pills I used to take, or something else, but...”   

 

Noah stills. “Oh.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” He buries his head in his hands, voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I never meant to drag you into this, I never—”

 

“ _ Drag me into this _ ?” Noah scoffs, disbelieving. “You think this is  _ your _ fault?”

 

Milo half laughs, half cries under his breath. “ _ I’m  _ the one who’s been seeing him since I was an infant. I’m the one who has to take pills, the one involved with creepy cult shit, and I’m the one who keeps fucking forgetting all of it.” 

 

“Milo, look. He’s fucking with both of us. I’m pretty sure he’d be fucking with us no matter what.” 

 

Milo doesn’t seem fully convinced, but he doesn’t argue. They stay there, heads resting against the bathroom wall, neither of them speaking. 

 

“How can we stop him?” Noah asks finally, desperate for answers but equally as scared that there won’t be any. 

 

“I dunno,” Milo says flatly. “Maybe we can’t.” 

 

Noah exhales. “...this fucking sucks.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, man, if I figure anything out, you’ll be the first to know.” 

  
  
  


Noah hangs out with Milo for his last few days in Florida. They don’t mention the man, just lie on Noah’s bed, eating leftover cake and playing videos games. It feels oddly normal, despite everything that’s happened the past few days, and it’s the most fun Noah has had with Milo since they were children. Eventually, though, his cousin has to go back to Alabama, and Noah is on his own again. 

 

He’s glad to finally have another person who knows what it’s like, especially one as close as Milo, but it comes tinged with remorse; he thought he was alone for so long, and that lead to him assuming Milo was  _ safe _ . That no matter what happened, his cousin would be okay. 

 

They start calling more often, at least once a week, to update each other with what’s happened since the last conversation. Milo explains about the cult his mother belongs to, about the black and white capsules, about the journal, and everything that happened to him in the years before Noah started seeing the man. Noah is appalled, hearing about what Mary put her son through, and he feels ashamed that he didn’t notice anything was wrong earlier, when they were both still young, and Milo was seeing the man almost every day, dealing with headaches and coughing fits and blackouts on a daily basis. 

 

He feels a wave of relief wash over him every time Milo picks up the phone, sounding like himself; he’s all too aware that every moment Milo is away, he could be forced to start taking pills again, could forget everything they shared together.  

 

The things that he now recognizes as symptoms of being near the man, coughing up blood and static in the back of his skull and a stabbing pain behind his eyes, don’t lessen as he’d hoped they would, but they don’t get worse either. He decides to take that as a good sign. Maybe, now that he and Milo are sharing their experiences, helping each other out, things will get better. Maybe this’ll all be over in a few years. Maybe, someday, it will only seem like a bad dream.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> camping sure is fun. can't wait until they do it again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re here too?”
> 
> Noah glances around. “Where is here?”
> 
> “I have no fucking idea.” Milo laughs humorlessly. “I thought I was dreaming.” 
> 
> Noah shrugs. “Hey, maybe you are. Maybe we’re both still asleep right now.” He wishes he sounded more convincing.

It’s less than a year later when he next sees Milo. He decides to invite Milo over for a camping trip; mostly an excuse for them to see each other in person, but also because he’s been hesitant to spend time outside at night by himself, and having Milo by his side will help ease his fear.

 

Noah and his dad pick Milo up from the airport and drive back to Noah’s house, where they play the new re-release of Resident Evil and talk about how their home life has been: they’ve been talking on the phone a few times each month, but it’s still nice to see each other in person. After that, they get the camping gear packed and drive off to the campsite, nearly fifty miles inland. The summer heat burns down on their backs as they hike along the trail to the campgrounds, and Noah has to squint to see past the bright rays of sun. 

 

Once they get to the campground, a clearing with watery sunlight filtering through the trees, Noah’s dad begins to set up the tents, and he and Milo hang out while they wait, chasing some of the squirrels that are nearby and wandering around the treeline. 

 

As the sun sinks below the horizon, Noah begins to feel uneasy, eyes darting between the trees, gaze catching on pockets of darkness hidden between branches. The setup of their tent looks oddly familiar, and he’s suddenly reminded of his dream: the shadow man holding up the carved book, motioning to Noah to be silent. 

 

Milo gently bumps his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

 

Noah glances at him, vaguely startled by his intrusion. “Oh, yeah. Fine,” he replies, and tries to ignore the distant feeling of dread that lingers in the back of his mind.

 

They light a campfire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows, and cook beans for dinner, the smoke from the fire billowing into the warm summer night. They talk for awhile, conversation drifting from Noah’s eleventh birthday to the house fire that happened when he was little. Milo excuses himself, saying he feels sick, and goes to sleep early. Noah joins him soon after, not wanting to be alone outside too late at night. He has trouble falling asleep, instantly alert each time he hears a twig snap outside the tent flap or an owl hoot softly in the distance, leaves shifting in the light breeze, but eventually he’s able to find a comfortable position, head buried in his pillow, and silence settles over him like a blanket. 

  
-  
  


Noah wakes up to darkness. As his eyes get more used to the low light, he realizes he’s no longer in his tent. A low haze surrounds him, and he stumbles to his feet, the ground soft and damp. Trees loom above him, stretching out endlessly in every direction, their crooked, inky black branches clawing at the sky. He doesn’t recognize the forest that surrounds him, and can’t see any sign of their campground, or any sign of life at all. Crickets chirp in the distance, a buzzing, monotonous drone, and he can see his own breath dissolving into the cold night air. 

 

A frigid breeze whispers across his bare skin, mist clinging to him like spiderwebs. He’s reminded, suddenly, of the impenetrable fog that surrounds the town of Silent Hill, concealing the grotesque monsters that roam the streets, all vicious snapping teeth and nightmarish groans, flesh stripped from muscle and bone. 

 

He shudders. With his anxiety, he really needs to stop playing horror games.

 

Illuminated in the moonlight he can see Milo, standing a few feet away, staring up at the night sky. Noah sighs in relief, and Milo turns to look, surprise written on his face.

 

“You’re here too?”

 

Noah glances around. “Where is here?”

 

“I have no fucking idea.” Milo laughs humorlessly. “I thought I was dreaming.” 

 

Noah shrugs. “Hey, maybe you are. Maybe we’re both still asleep right now.” He wishes he sounded more convincing.

 

Milo doesn’t respond, silently taking a plastic spoon from one of his cargo pants pockets. He heads over to the nearest tree trunk and begins to dig the tip into soft bark, carving deep, curved lines in the wood. Noah immediately recognizes it as the eye symbol from his dream, the one that he noticed on Milo’s journal, lined in silver sharpie. He’d figured it was just some sort of decoration, at the time, but clearly it’s something more. 

 

“Milo,” Noah says slowly. “What are you doing?”

 

“The symbol—I don’t know what it’s called, but I’m pretty sure it provides some sort of protection. I think it’ll help keep him away. I mean, it can’t hurt.”

 

Noah nods, and watches as Milo cuts the symbol into a few other trees, before he tucks the spoon back in a pocket, and brushes dirt off his hands. 

 

They wander along again, occasionally stopping so Milo could carve the symbol again. Eventually, they come to a stream, snaking its way through the forest and spreading into a small pond. The water is ice cold and pitch black, banks slippery with mud, but they haven’t had anything to drink since waking up, so they take turns sipping from it with cupped hands. 

 

Milo drinks last, and while his head is down, Noah hears a soft rustling sound, and spots a flash of dull orange: a fox. It limps out of the darkness and towards the stream, seemingly unafraid of the two of them. One of its hind legs is twisted at an odd angle, fur matted with dried blood, and it struggles to walk, steps slow and lurching. 

 

Noah nudges Milo, who glances up, looking startled. 

 

Noah looks back and bites his lip: the fox has turned, exposing a dangling eyeball hanging haphazardly from its face, the socket hollow and gaping. Noah flinches and looks away, but Milo doesn’t say a word, just stares, face pale. 

 

The fox’s head shoots up, its one working eye latching onto a spot directly behind them. It freezes briefly, a deer in the headlights, before silently darting away.

 

Against their better judgement, they look behind themselves.

 

The tall man stands watching them through the trees, his face impassive and white, and Noah scrambles back, inhaling sharply, adrenaline spiking in his veins like ice water. He turns to Milo to find him standing utterly still and unblinking, staring at the man with fear shining in his eyes. 

 

“We have to go, come on!” Noah hisses frantically, but his cousin doesn’t respond, and Noah shakes him, panic rising in his throat. 

 

After what seems like eternity, Milo finally reacts, tearing his gaze away from the man and stumbling backwards, terror flashing across his face. He spins around and bolts into the fog, and Noah dashes after him, the vague, indistinct shapes of trees looming above him as he sprints through the hazy forest. 

 

Once they can’t see him anymore, can’t feel his presence on their backs, they slow down, and stop to rest at the base of a broad tree, legs burning and breathing strained. Milo still seems shaken up from the encounter, and Noah wishes there was something he could say to comfort him, but he knows all attempts at reassurement will sound empty until they’re safely back at the campground and away from the man in the suit. He watches as Milo fumbles in a pocket for the spoon, and starts to carve the symbol from earlier into the bark of the tree trunk, hands trembling slightly. Noah doubts that it will do much at this point, but if it helps his cousin relax, then it can’t hurt. 

 

He’s about to stand up when he hears a loud, slightly echoing ticking noise sounding through the trees, like a grandfather clock. It's strange and resonating, and unsettles him somehow, a feeling of unease crawling across his skin. Milo claps his hand over his mouth, eyes wide and turned towards the source of the sound, and takes out his phone, starting to record whatever it is they’re hearing. He shifts position slightly and slips backwards, letting out a tiny yelp as he hits the ground. The clicking immediately stops, and Noah freezes, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if someone is watching him. He doesn’t dare turn around or move a muscle, hyper-aware of every breath he takes. Milo starts to sob quietly.

 

Against all better judgment, Noah turns around.

 

He's  _ there _ , once again, staring at them with that flat, soulless face. This isn't like when Noah was 8, glancing nervously at the strange man in the playground: this is  _ his _ turf. They don't know where they are or how to fight. He's entirely in control.

 

Noah and Milo silently grab each other's hands so tight, he feels like their bones will shatter. He feels a glimmer of hope that even if he's going to die, at least he’ll be in good company.

 

“Hey, over here!”

 

Noah whips around, seeing a tall dark man holding a book, half obscured in the thick mist. It’s the shadow man from his dream, features indistinct and blurred, except for the two white glints where his eyes should be. Noah can’t quite make out the details of the book he has grasped in his hands, but he’s sure it isn’t Milo’s, because  _ Milo  _ has his journal.

 

His eyes (or lack thereof) lock onto theirs, and he yells again, “Noah, Milo – run!” He turns back to the tall man, feet planted firmly.

 

They don’t need to be told twice, turning and sprinting through the trees. Noah hears the dark man shout something at Mr. Slim, but can't quite make it out over the wind screaming in his ears. He keeps running until his lungs burn and his muscles ache, finally slowing as a light in the distance catches his eye. He and Milo head towards it, hopeful. 

 

It turns out to be a campfire, and they spot a figure illuminated in the soft orange light, smoke rising above him and vanishing into the night. As they get closer, Noah is able to make out more details. He looks a little older than Milo, and he’s sitting at a picnic table, sharpening a big knife. The razor sharp blade shimmers in the moonlight when he holds it up to inspect it, running his finger lightly over the serrated edge until blood wells up. 

 

Abruptly, he stops and looks at them over his shoulder. A grin cuts across his face, more threatening than the knife could ever be.

 

Milo’s eyes widen, and Noah swears under his breath. “ _ Nope, not that way, not that way, _ ” he hisses frantically to his cousin, and they both turn and run, stumbling blindly through the forest in their haste to get away. 

 

They run for what feels like forever. Suddenly, Noah trips over a root and goes flying, slamming face-first into the ground, his palms scraped and stinging. 

 

He tastes blood, metallic in his mouth, and the world slips away.

  
-  
  


He wakes up to a pressure behind his eyes, his entire body aching. Milo stands over him, hand outstretched to help him up. He stumbles to his feet and looks around, noticing where they are: a wooden tower that sits along the way to the campsite. It’s a short walk away, for sure, but it’s nothing catastrophic. 

 

“I– I thought it might have been a nightmare, at first, but this isn’t the campsite, and you’re here too, and–” Milo trails off, and roughly displays the palm of his hand. A thin scar runs across it, the skin pink and shining. 

 

Noah blinks. “Where’d you get that?”

 

“I fell earlier. I cut myself on a root.”

 

“It’s... fully healed. That can’t have been–”  

 

“I know, but I definitely didn’t have it before.”

 

“Fuck,” Noah decides.

 

They make their way back to the campsite. Noah’s dad is boiling some water for oatmeal, and just shrugs when they come back. Noah makes up an excuse about Milo being scared to go out into the woods to pee alone, which Milo mock punches him for. They go back to being normal teenage boys again, and it's comforting.

 

Still, there's a nagging worry in Noah’s mind. Something worse is coming. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pantry? but i just met her!

 

On the drive back to Noah’s house, they don’t say much, both thinking about the events of the previous night. Noah’s dad seems unsettled by their silence, and he tries to start conversations with them on more than one occasion, but after too many monosyllabic responses he gives up, turning on some music to fill the silence.

 

After spending the car ride brooding (and napping, in Noah's case), they feel a bit better. Noah suggests playing some video games to take their minds off things, and Milo agrees.

 

They chat and play for a while, warm laughter filling the room, the incident the previous night nearly forgotten. After a bit, Milo lets Noah go back to a single player game, saying he’s tired. He sits back, cross-legged on the bed, and starts to scribble something down in his journal, looking focused. Noah switches back to Resident Evil, settles on the very edge of the bed, and starts to play.

  
  
  


Noah whoops as he finally beats the boss he’s been aiming to get past for however long it’s been, pausing the game and throwing down the controller onto the bed. He feels like he’s going to burst from happiness, hands flapping with excitement, but Milo doesn’t say a word, silent on the other end of the bed.

 

Noah deflates slightly, his good mood lessening. He had been hoping for praise from his cousin, since Milo had watched him die and restart over and over at the last save point for the past hour. He knows Milo wasn’t paying that much attention, but he could’ve at least congratulated him.

 

Noah turns to Milo, mouth opening to ask him _hey, are you okay, what’s up_ , when he freezes, lips parted, all of a sudden filled with an all-consuming sense of creeping dread. It stills his tongue and snatches away his words, stomach churning, heart pounding with sharp adrenaline and icy cold fear. He snaps his mouth shut. Something feels _wrong_ , a chill that’s seeped into his bones, unease spiking thorny and tangled in his chest, exactly like how he feels when the tall man is watching him.

 

_The tall man._

 

Something happened with him. Something _bad_.

 

Noah shudders, shoulders quaking, as he _remembers._

 

They had been playing video games: Noah remembers that. They got up to eat lunch, so they could spend the rest of the day marathoning video games. They ate, they walked back into his room, and...

 

He had been there, standing at the end of the hallway, staring at them with his blank, paper white face. Noah remembers feeling sick at the dichotomy between the soft yellow of the overhead light and the pitch black, stark and sharp-edged form of Mr. Slim.

 

They had dashed towards the pantry to hide. Noah's head stung, and he winced, closing his eyes. Milo hadn’t say a word, color drained from his face, and Noah had turned to him, to comfort him, or cry, or do something, anything other than standing still, when he had come face to face with a black tie. Noah had screamed and jerked back, fear and adrenaline rushing through him. He had been right fucking _there_ , right behind them, and the static in the back of his head had grown louder, until it was nearly overwhelming. They had held each other and screamed, and Noah remembers feeling a cold terror like the press of icy hands on his chest as shifting black tendrils had enveloped them, and plunged the pantry into darkness.

 

And then Noah had woken up sitting on the edge of his bed, with no memory of what had just happened, as if he'd been scrubbed clean, or cauterized. Bleached.

 

“...Noah?”

 

He snaps back to the present at the sound of Milo’s voice, and meets his cousin’s eyes to see apprehension flickering across the other boy’s face, eyes glinting with fear.

 

Noah opens his mouth, but hesitates, struggling to find the words he needs, as if the tall man’s shadow, stretched and distorted and black as the sea at midnight, is still smothering him, choking the voice from his throat as easily as it consumed every speck of light in that room. “Was that… was that real?” he asks, voice scarcely a whisper.

 

Milo just nods.

 

Noah starts crying, and collapses into his cousin.

 

“If I forget again, you have to tell me everything. Okay? Don't try and do it all yourself or some dumb shit.”

 

Milo nods. “Yeah, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow with pantry over i guess nothing bad will happen! end of fic. cant wait for them to be fine forever now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yall want a fuckin montage?

Once again, they go their separate ways. During their time apart, Milo buys a video camera and goes to an award ceremony in New York for their second cousins, Elizabeth and Will Adler. (Noah asks his dad to go, wanting to catch up with Milo again, but they can’t afford it.)

 

Of course, what ends up happening during this short unassuming trip requires a two hour phone call to explain.

 

Apparently, Milo had been under the impression that they would head back after the ceremony, but they stayed through New Years. After the holidays, Milo’s mom had taken Milo and his own mom to Karl’s house to negotiate a legal matter, leaving Milo in the car. Mary, who Noah had known for a while was pretty fucking manipulative, and who seemed to have her own convoluted bullshit of an agenda that didn’t involve either of them, had urged Milo to try to steal his grandfather’s old journal. It hadn’t worked, because of some shadow version of their grandfather that had blocked Milo from leaving, just like the shadow version of himself that he and Milo had both been dreaming about. The real Karl found out considerably quickly. He and Milo’s mom had gotten into some sort of screaming match, and, shotgun in hand, he had kicked them out of the house, and later tried to get a restraining order against them. On the plus side, Milo says somewhat dryly, at least he finally got a look inside.

 

Noah remembers his cousin mentioning the journal in passing before, but he had been pretty vague about what it was at the time. When he asks, Milo explains how he’s been dreaming of the same journal that Karl owns, and how it used to belong to someone named Sebastian Krauss. He doesn’t know much else about it, but as he continues, Noah realizes it was the same journal his shadow self had showed him all those years ago, and most likely the same one he had been holding in the dream forest and he had used to ward off the tall man. He mentions this, and Milo confirms that they looked the same.

 

The pages had been worn and yellowed, covered in scrawling German writing and odd scratchy drawings, some of which Milo had recognized as depictions of the tall man. As he had flipped through the journal, he had felt a sensation like thousands of eyes on him, a surge of ice water coursing cold through his veins, and the heavy, certain knowledge that the tall man was close by, watching him, waiting. He hadn’t brought his phone or camera with him, so he hadn’t been able to take any photos, but it most likely wouldn’t have mattered. The way Milo phrases it, it sounds like it wasn’t something that could be fully captured visually. Besides, neither of them spoke any German.

 

Of course, now Karl is pissed as fuck at Milo and his family, which means it’ll be up to Noah in the future if this journal really turns out to be important.

 

Noah and Milo talk on the phone for a while longer, discussing the possible implications of the journal’s power, and reasons Karl might have been so agitated by Milo looking through it, before saying goodbyes and hanging up.

 

Noah buys a video camera soon after their conversation, following Milo’s initiative in hopes of catching the tall man on tape. He knows even if he does, anyone he shows it to might not be able to see him, but he figures it’s always worth a shot.  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noahs gotta stop eating before bed.

A few weeks pass, and Noah dreams of Milo.

 

He’s older, this dream Milo: obscured in shifting darkness, just like his own shadow self, and the version of Grandpa Karl that Milo had described. His arms and neck are covered in long, deep scars, like canyons carving their way through soft rock, and his hair is long and tangled. He looks like he’s been crying. 

 

Noah feels tears prick at his eyes, without fully knowing why. 

 

His shadow cousin turns to him, eyes finding Noah’s, and whispers something hoarsely. 

 

Noah blinks. “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

 

His voice wheezes, eroded and endless and dry, scraping at Noah’s hearing like desert sand. 

 

“Find the journal,” he rasps. The cut on his neck heaves with every word.

 

Through his tears, Noah can see that the shadow man is crying too. 

 

He wakes up, and runs to the bathroom to vomit. 

  
  
  
  
  


He tells Milo about the dream, about the shadows and the scars and the plea to find the journal, and they have another long phone call reassuring each other. Neither of them are strangers to nightmares: they've been living one their whole life. 

 

The phone call also gives Milo the chance to announce that he’s saved up while working at the library, and can visit Noah in Florida in a few months. This is enough to rise Noah out of his funk, and they excitedly chat for a while longer.

  
  
  
  


A few days later, Noah has another dream. He sits up, ready to fight, when he comes face to face with someone who looks awfully familiar.

 

Shadow Noah looks a lot older than Noah does: his facial hair is largely filled in and his hair is neatly trimmed (Noah realizes, a little distractedly, that he should really get a haircut). Instead of eyes, he has two piercing white dots where his pupils used to be.

 

Great. It’s this fucker again.

 

As if reading his thoughts, the shadow version of himself smiles. It’s both creepy and oddly reassuring. He gestures, silently, to the chess board in front of him. It’s Noah’s turn. Reluctantly, he moves a pawn. 

 

Someone pounds on the door. Noah jumps, instinctively turning back to his shadow self for answers, but he’s gone and the entire room is on fire. The flames lick at his hands as the smoke burns at his throat. The knocking grows even louder, the entire room shaking as it burns. Noah falls to his knees, coughs racking his body, before jolting up in bed: sweating, but otherwise unharmed.

  
  
  
  


He may be no stranger to nightmares, but these are different. They feel too real, too specific: like a warning. Something's going to happen, he knows it, and he looks to Milo’s visit with cold anticipation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is called boardevous and its gonna fuckin slap


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this feels awfully familiar

"Hey Milo!" Noah greets, pulling him in for a quick hug. He's amused to find that Milo is also filming: suitcase in one hand, camera in the other. The taxi driver must have thought he was nuts.

 

"What's up? How's it going?" 

 

"Good. How was the plane ride down?"

 

"It was pretty good, man. A little turbulence, but not too bad."

 

Noah and Milo point their respective cameras at each other, suppressing a giggle. They're just a couple of paranoid cousins trying to catch a demon on film, nothing weird about that.

 

"So how's Alabama? Family life any better?" Noah pointedly doesn't mention she-who-must-not-be-named, though he’s not exactly subtle with his fishing. Just thinking about her and what she does to her own son makes his blood boil. 

 

"Nope. She’s still an asshole, still in a cult. As long as I pretend to be brainwashed or whatever, I’m good, though.”

 

Noah doesn't have a job (he's still in high school, at 16 years old) but he did recently get his driver's license, which he's very proud of. Milo's 19, but agrees to let Noah be their chauffeur so he can show off.

 

Milo gets unpacked a little, they play some Paper Mario, and they head out to walk around the park by his house. 

 

“Oh man, I remember that,” Noah points with his free hand, having volunteered to film for the day, to a sea wall by the river. “See that? That's where we used to have the bonfire like two summers ago.”

  
  
“That was fun,” Milo smiles. Then, he stops smiling. “Tyler was there.”

  
“Yeah. Tyler was a fucking dick.” 

  
Milo doesn't respond, and Noah turns, concerned. He's hunched over, shoulders spasming, body wracked with coughs.

 

“Hey, man, are you okay?” 

 

Milo catches his breath, and speaks, voice rough and scraped. “I… don't know. Usually that means that Mr. Slim is nearby.” His face is clouded with worry as he scans the horizon. Noah looks too, but doesn’t see anything.

 

He bites his lip. “Here, let's head back. I'll grab you some cough drops, just in case.”   
  


The next day, they hang out in Noah's room. He turns on the TV to try and pass the time, but it's just hissing static, so they turn it off and share a worried look. Suddenly, Noah doesn’t want to hang around much longer.

 

“Hey, you wanted to go to the park today, right?” Noah says, putting the remote down and flopping back on his bed. He stares at the ceiling while Milo writes in his journal.

 

Milo shrugs. “Yeah, if you're up to it.”

 

“‘Course.” He hums. “We could check out the new boardwalk.”

 

"How far is it?"

 

"About a quarter mile from the park entrance. I don't think you've seen it yet, they just built it last year."

 

"Really? Sounds... pretty interesting." Milo says rather unconvincingly. Noah mock-punches his shoulder.

 

"So, you wanna go?"

 

"Let's do it."

 

They pull into the park. Milo’s in charge of filming for the car ride, though they’re using Noah's camera since Milo claims it’s nicer. They get out of the car, and Milo instantly frowns.

 

“What is it?” Noah says, taking the camera back and messing with a few settings. He films the surrounding park area, zooming in on some signs.

 

“I don't know. I feel weird.” A moment passes as Milo looks into the distance. “Fuck it. It's probably nothing. What's the worst that could happen?”

 

They start off pretty slowly, just walking down the boardwalk. They point out beer bottles, film the trees, and talk like they used to. Noah tries to ignore the undercurrent of fear he knows is beneath every word.

 

They reach the observation tower. On Noah’s request, they go up.

 

“I love the view from up here,” Noah explains on the way. “You can see the whole mangrove forest and everything.”

 

“Yeah.” They reach the top, and Milo relaxes for a moment: letting the wind play with his hair. They sit, watching the ocean in the distance, feeling the warmth of the sun, breathing. It’s nice to finally be able to relax and hang out. No monsters, no cults, no fucked up family curse: just the sun and the breeze and his best friend. 

 

Then, as if a timer went off, Milo’s eyes fly open.

 

“We need to go.”

 

“What?”

 

“He's here. We need to go  _ now _ .” Milo starts sprinting down the stairs, jabbing a finger out to a spot in the trees.

 

“Hey, wait! Milo, man, wait up!” Noah calls out, racing after him. He misses a step, twisting his ankle and coming to a painful landing on the steps. He winces, sitting up and blinking in shock as complete blackness clouds his sight. He fumbles on the ground for his camera, turning on night vision and trying to assess his surroundings. He's on the ground level of the boardwalk and it's got to be the dead of night, even though he was at the top during noon only a few seconds ago.

 

Maybe he blacked out? Maybe he was unconscious for a really long time and didn’t notice? ...but then Milo would have carried him, right? Milo wouldn’t just  _ leave _ him. 

 

This is fine. This is fine. Noah’s been here tons of times, he knows the way out. He runs down the boardwalk, turns the corner, and - is somehow right back where he started. Alright, that’s fine too. He must just have a concussion. He’s confused. 

 

He runs back to the corner, turns again, and is even further from the start.

 

“What the fuck?” he demands to no one.

 

“Noah?”

 

Noah whips around, seeing Milo at the other end of the boardwalk through the viewfinder of the camera. He sprints to his cousin, and wraps him into a hug. 

 

“Milo! I thought you left me.” 

 

Milo squints at him: they can barely make out each other's facial expressions in the dimness. “I turned back the moment the adrenaline faded. Sorry, I panicked.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re here now, man.” They both hunch over the camera, staring at the small square of visibility they have in the cold darkness. “I tried to get back to the parking lot, but I just kept going in circles.” 

 

“Me too. Maybe... we have to go backwards? Maybe it’s all flipped or something.” Milo doesn’t sound very confident, but Noah shrugs. 

 

“Might as well.”

 

They turn around, walk to the corner, and once again find themselves near the observation tower.

 

“Okay, fuck it,” Noah huffs. “I’m going up to try to see the way out.”

 

Milo follows Noah's lead as they climb up the stairs and walk straight into a room. The two cousins blink rapidly, adjusting to the sunlight filtering in.

 

“Hey, you two. Sit down, we need to talk.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw you have to look upon your high school self and face the reality that you were once that greasy

They whirl around, adrenaline coursing through their veins, searching for the source of the voice.

 

The man’s hair is short, and his beard is full (as opposed to Noah’s mere hint of stubble), but they have the same tanned skin, the same nose bridges, the same cadence to their voices. He looks worn, though, mouth carved into a frown and dark bags hanging under his eyes.

 

Noah stares at his doppelgänger like he’s looking in a funhouse mirror.

 

“What,” Milo points out helpfully.

 

“We gotta talk right now. Sit down.”

 

“Fuck no!” Noah snaps. Whatever bullshit this look-alike is selling, he wants no part of it.

 

He rolls his eyes, words tight and stressed. “If you don't sit down and speak to me, then you're both going to be stuck here forever. Put that camera down, Noah, and let's talk.”

 

They sit down awkwardly next to each other across from Older Noah. He reluctantly sets his camera down on the table, but makes sure that it’s still pointed at the three of them.

 

Noah glances around nervously. There’s a single window in the room that reveals nothing but a gray haze outside. Otherwise, the room looks like an average office: a blank tv on the wall, multiple doors leading to who knows where.

 

Milo breaks the silence. “Where are we? How’d we get here?”

 

“This is a, uh, small recess that I've been given to have this very conversation with you two.” 

 

“Recess? We’re stuck here?” Noah's heart sinks.

 

“No, you get out, don't worry. It's just... not the last time you come.”

  
  
Milo presses on. “Are you actually Noah, or do you just look like him?

 

“That’s me. I’m just a version of him from… a lot later on.”

 

Noah stares. “How far in the future are you?”

  
  
“I've been here for about a month. I can't give you my exact age, but you can probably tell I'm pretty far off.”

  
  
Great. That’s helpful. “What is this place?”

  
  
Future Noah thinks for a moment. “This... this is where the monsters live. It's basically a pocket dimension. The boardwalk and our home — that's me and Noah, not you, Milo —  are two of many places with special levels of energy that they use to their benefit.” They stare blankly back at him. “We’re trapped in a mirror of our reality. You'll learn more about it later. I don't think we were ever meant to be here, but… hey. Firebrand works in mysterious ways.”

 

“...Firebrand?” Milo says.

 

Future Noah blinks. “Shit, you guys are _really_ far back. Uh… we used to call him Shadow Noah. Had a lot of dreams about him. Ring a bell?”

 

“So… why's he… like he is? What the fuck happened to him, and why does he look like me?”

 

“That's something you have to learn on your own. Sorry.”

 

Noah makes a noise of frustration. “Why can't you just tell us? Why are all our dreams with this _‘Firebrand’_ so fucking _cryptic_?”

 

Future Noah sighs. “Firebrand isn't being cryptic to you, he's being cryptic to _them_ . He's fucking with the timeline, do you understand? He is compromising the omnipotence of fucking _gods_ . He's changing our fate, and if any of us give away too much, _everything_ he's worked for will be ruined.”

 

Milo is silent. Noah decides to focus on the silver lining. “Holy shit, he’s on our side _and_ he has time travel powers? Nice.”

 

Future Noah smiles wistfully. “My time’s running out, so let’s go through a few orders of business real fast. Milo, keep track of the journals: yours and Sebastian's. They're both really important. I can't give anything else away. Not yet.”

 

I know you're confused, but know this: When the time comes, we will actually have a chance, a real chance, to stop this creature. To end this hell and this curse, once and for all. Stick together, okay? You’re going to need each other.” Future Noah gets up, before pausing. “Noah? You'll wanna see this.”

 

He pulls out an old leather book. The gasp Milo lets out tells him this must be _the_ old leather book: the journal.

 

It feels like the room explodes. Information buzzes and hisses through the air, a painful overload of pictures and words and ideas Noah can barely process. He can feel a sensation like thousands of eyes watching him, hundreds of hands reaching out, screaming--

 

Then he shuts it, and it's a flat leather book again. He puts it back in his bag, straightens his shirt, and grabs the door handle.

 

“Good luck, fam. See ya.”

 

Future Noah walks out the door, shutting it behind him. Noah grabs the camera and tries to follow him, the world fading back to darkness.

 

The two of them find themselves standing outside the car: the sun is low in the sky, brush strokes of burning orange and red painting the horizon, like the skyline is on fire. Despite the time jump of a few hours, it still seems to be about the same time of year, which is a relief.

 

“He said fam,” Noah says, still half in shock.

 

“Yep,” Milo agrees. “He sure did.”

 

“Tomorrow, let’s just stay home and play Spyro.”

 

“Yeah. Sounds like a good idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
